"Ah?" Thomas Thompson was still focused on adjusting the time. "It's fine, I'm not worried about that. Scores aren't the only standard for measuring everything."

If you ask whether splitting up the exam rooms had any effect on these underachievers, there really was one—the answers were much harder to copy now.

Who could you ask to pass you the answers? Everyone was about the same.

But there was still a difference between "about the same".

The first seat in the first row—the one with the highest final exam score among the underachievers—was getting suggestive looks from the others.

"I heard you can get sixty in math. Out of one hundred and fifty, you can get sixty. Wow."

"What, sixty? You're that good?"

That guy was probably experiencing this for the first time in his underachiever career, and felt a bit embarrassed: "It's not really like that."

Ethan Young pressed his palm to his forehead, lowering his head and trying hard not to listen to this group talking.

Damn it

Ethan Young felt complicated and twisted inside, unable to find the right words to complain, when he heard Henry Howard sitting behind him join in the awkward flattery: "Sixty, bro, that's really strong, bro."

------------

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Hey, how about Chinese? How much can you get in Chinese?"

'Best in the room' scratched his head, a bit shy: "Over eighty, I guess."

Everyone in the underachievers' gathering seemed to have found a savior, swarming over. Someone even stuffed a cigarette into his chest pocket: "Big bro, a little token of my appreciation, please accept it, don't be shy."

"An eighty in Chinese, I've only seen that in my dreams. With grades this good, how did you end up in our exam room? You're a true talent fallen among commoners, a master among the people."

"Really amazing, later give me a look and toss me the answers."

"Don't worry, bro's been in the game for over ten years, absolutely zero risk. Even if I have to eat the answers, I won't let them fall into the invigilator's hands."

""

The boy surrounded by the crowd felt like he was floating the whole time. He thought, next time he also wanted to stay in this exam room—the feeling of being the big bro was pretty sweet.

He felt power surging through his whole body!

No one had ever praised his failing scores like this before!

Ethan Young sat at his desk spinning his pen, waiting for the invigilator to enter the class.

Three fingers pinched a black gel pen, spinning it absentmindedly, round and round. He squinted slightly, getting a bit sleepy from waiting.

Henry Howard poked Ethan Young's right shoulder with his pen: "Kid, want the answers?"

The pen in Ethan Young's hand fell with a "pop". His fingers were long and slender, the joints especially prominent, and he stayed in that position without moving.

"You?" Ethan Young propped his head with one hand, turned his body to look back at him, and said, "Forget it."

Henry Howard knew Ethan Young misunderstood. He leaned back, smiled, reached out, curled his index finger, and flicked Ethan Young's forehead lightly: "What are you thinking, of course not mine, it's from that math-sixty, Chinese-eighty bro over there."

That flick was really light, as if it just brushed past.

Ethan Young instinctively resisted this kind of contact. Rather than "resisted", "not used to it" was more accurate. He propped himself up on the desk with one hand and stood up, leaning forward, really wanting to smash Henry Howard's head: "Didn't I tell you not to keep touching me?"

Henry Howard was sitting in the last seat, with some distance to the wall. He and his chair scooted back a few steps.

"You've got quite a temper," Henry Howard said. "Alright, alright, I'll stop, don't get worked up."

The commotion they made was a bit loud, and others glanced over at the corner, all pretending not to know what the two were doing. If you said they were fighting, it didn't really look like it.

"What are those two doing?"

"I heard from Class Three that Ethan Young and Bro Henry are kind of... you know."

"Huh?"

"I didn't really believe it at first—"

"Which Class Three student? The know-it-all? The stuff he says is half true, half not, just listen and don't take it seriously."

At this moment, the bell rang again.

Manager Jensen's voice came from the broadcast: "All examinees, there are five minutes left before the exam starts. Please return to your designated exam rooms. The first subject: Chinese."

Up to this point, the announcement was very formal, and the tone was gentle, probably to ease the students' nerves. But halfway through, Manager Jensen suddenly paused, then the tone changed, and his voice shot up: "Hey, which class are you from?! The exam's about to start and you're still horsing around here. Stop right there, come here, you little rascal, still trying to run—"

""

The broadcast cut off. Some students keenly heard the sound of high heels in the hallway and quickly warned everyone: "Shh, the invigilator is coming."

The noisy classroom instantly quieted down.

Henry Howard had no idea what "quiet" meant. He poked Ethan Young again with his pen: "I'll pass you the answers later."

Ethan Young coldly spat out two words: "No need."

Henry Howard: "Why not? It's an eighty in Chinese!"

Ethan Young thought, what the hell do I need the answers for—what if I accidentally score higher than you?

"Can't take it," Ethan Young found a reasonable excuse, "the score's too high, doesn't suit me."

The two invigilators who came in were Thomas Thompson and Chelsea Shaw.

What a coincidence, both of them had close ties with Class Three, Grade Two.

Chelsea Shaw was probably transferred over at the last minute. When she got to the door, she even asked, "Is this the class?" Old Tang replied, "Yes, that's right." Thomas Thompson was holding his ever-present middle-aged goji berry health tea. As soon as he came in, he put down his cup, opened the sealed exam paper bag, and counted the papers.

Chelsea Shaw brought a seat cushion and a book. She glanced around the room, and when she saw Henry Howard, her expression froze for a second before she looked away.

"Chelsea Shaw, huh." Someone recognized her.

"Don't know her. How is she? Is she strict as an invigilator?"

"She used to be Class Three's homeroom teacher, right? Then she got transferred. Ask Bro Henry, he should know better."

"Bro Henry, Bro Henry."

The one sitting near Henry Howard really did ask in a low voice, since the strictness of these two invigilators directly affected their fate: "I know about Old Tang, but what about the lady next to him, is she strict?"

Henry Howard smiled and tossed his pen onto the desk: "Her—"

Henry Howard only said two words and didn't continue.

That student scratched his head, not understanding, only feeling that Henry Howard's smile looked a bit cold.

No matter how strict the invigilators were, cheating still had to be done.

These guys didn't have great grades, but they were bold, living for the thrill, and when the time came, they couldn't hesitate for a second.

All in all, it was basically a big action movie.

"Half an hour left in the exam, hurry up and finish. If you haven't started the essay, speed up."

Chelsea Shaw walked around a few times, then stopped and sat down to read her book. Thomas Thompson wandered around the classroom with his cup: "Everyone behave, we're here at school not just to learn knowledge. More important than doing problems is learning to be a good person—"

As Thomas Thompson was talking, he turned around and a ball of paper with answers flew right past his back.

"I hope everyone doesn't cheat, show your real ability. If you don't know, you just don't know, nothing to be ashamed of. We'll work hard to learn it in the future—"

The paper ball landed right on the corner of Henry Howard's desk.

No matter what subject Henry Howard did, it was always five words: "Give up, next question," except for Chinese. At least he could understand Chinese, he wasn't illiterate, so every time he filled the Chinese test paper to the brim, making up for the regret of not knowing where to start in other subjects.

After finishing the front questions, he started writing the essay, writing with such passion that his handwriting couldn't even fit in the boxes.

Seeing Thomas Thompson about to turn around again, Henry Howard calmly reached out and grabbed the paper ball.

Sure enough, Thomas Thompson turned around and stared at Henry Howard's paper for a long time, his expression a bit complicated. In the end, he didn't say anything, just put his hands behind his back and wandered off, muttering a few words about handwriting scores: "Basic requirement, clear handwriting. Handwriting score is the last thing you should lose points on, everyone pay attention."

Since more than twenty people were all relying on one set of answers, after much discussion, they finally came up with an assembly line method for passing answers, with the route going from the front row to the back, then from the second row forward again.

The student passing the answers to Henry Howard signaled for him to pass it forward after copying.

Henry Howard made a cool "one k" gesture to reassure him.